


Unpacking

by wisdomeagle



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Curtain Fic, F/M, Ghost Spike, Nesting, Science, Season/Series 05, Wolfram & Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-10
Updated: 2005-04-10
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/pseuds/wisdomeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A commemorative plate, and Spike wanting to do damage to a geek on Fred's behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpacking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sage_theory (papersage)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/papersage/gifts).



Spike was on the growing list of things Fred didn't understand, sandwiched between appropriations and acquisitions, and then again at the bottom of the list, right under finance in general. She'd forgotten that she didn't understand him, because at times he could be completely transparent -- not just in the ghosty sense -- like when he stormed out of the lab railing against all things scientific that were damned bloody useless if they couldn't make him flesh and blood again. Then again came the times when he was as impossible to understand as equations written in disappearing ink.

Now was one of those times.

Spike was perched on the edge of her desk, very carefully, using all his energy to keep himself from sinking through onto the tiled floor. He was watching her with a level of concentration she personally reserved only for precise lab work, and every so often he'd break into a smile, or start humming happily, and she'd cast him a quizzical look, which yielded no result.

Finally she asked him, "What are you doing?" and he answered, sounding surprised, "flirting."

"I already told you..."

He shrugged a slim shoulder and smiled again, and his butt sagged into the desk, making her giggle. Realizing what had happened, he jumped to his feet angrily and looked around like he wanted something to hit.

"Try Henry," she said, finding a mechanical pencil and making a tiny annotation on her budget. "He could use a good walloping."

"Right on it," Spike said, started gamely out the door, then doubled back, angrily. "Can't hit things."

Fred sighed. "We're working on it. It's just, I'm very busy with other things at the moment, and..."

"No, I understand. More important things to do than preserving the vampire's sanity. Least, _this_ vampire. If the old man upstairs were in trouble, you'd all be working double-time."

"We _are_ working double-time," Fred reminded him. "And Angel's office is downstairs."

"Figure of speech," Spike told her. "Speech is all I'm good for, seems. Speech and my dashing figure."

"Here, why don't you make yourself useful? I've got unpacking that still needs to be done."

"Can't bloody touch anything--"

She frowned, wrinkled her nose. "Right. Uh, are you good at decorating?"

"That's a very personal question," Spike said.

"Oh, good point..." she trailed off, then grinned at him. "So, you any good at kissing?"

"Fine, then. No, I'm a bloody lousy interior decorator."

"Too bad. I was hoping you could tell me where these could go." She reached into a box and showed him two absolutely garish plates that had somehow survived numerous upheavals and changes in management at Wolfram and Hart before finally ending up in her possession. "Someone obviously thought they could draw."

Spike peered at the plates, gestured for Fred to turn one of them around, and finally shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Beats me."

She looked into the box again. "The accompanying card says they're in honor of the appointment of a new CEO... oh. I think this one is supposed to show what happened to his predecessor."

Spike looked at the plate with renewed interest. "Nasty. Wouldn't want that sort of thing happening to Angel," he said in a voice that clearly said he wouldn't mind all that much.

"I think I'll just get rid of these," Fred said, gingerly placing them back in the box. "I kind of want the place to feel homey, you know, but these aren't helping. Neither are _they_." She gestured at her staff.

"Anything I can do?" Spike's voice was surprisingly soft, and Fred found herself blushing.

"You could stick around," she said. "Liven the place up."

"Bit dead," he reminded her.

"All right, deaden the place -- no, _you_ know." She punched him playfully, and found that her balled hand met with a slight resistance. She pushed at him again, thoughtfully. If she was correct in her initial calculations, and if -- she checked her watch -- yes -- "I've got an idea!"

"About me?"

"I think so. Let me run the numbers again." She pushed her budget out of the way and chewed her pencil thoughtfully before starting to write.

"Anything I need to do?"

"Just stay right there," she said, hardly looking up. "Keep me company," she added.

"My pleasure."

And for the first time, her office at Wolfram and Hart felt the tiniest bit like home.


End file.
